Cracking the Ice
by LovelyDragons
Summary: A story which takes place after the events in season 3. The story will focus on Moriarty new attempt to destroy Sherlock and will be told mainly from the pov of a new character (Seira). May contain slightly adult topics (mainly gore).
1. Prologue

_**prologue**_

moment in time: right after the events in episode 3.2 The Sign of Three

The bathtub was filled with cold water and ice cubes. She already sat there long enough for her skin to turn in a haunting white colour and her lips had changed dark blue. Her body trembled in an effort to keep itself warm. The hairs on her arm were standing up, alarming her that she needed to warm herself. The cold caused by the ice was making her sick, but she -.  
"Again?" The stern voice distracted her gaze away from her arms. "Why this time?" The man that belonged to the voice was standing in the doorway. His left eyebrow was slightly risen as usual, his mouth was a small line. She could not remember if she ever saw him smile.  
"I hate weddings," was her answer while her eyes fell back to the ice cubes surrounding her. A sigh filled with annoyance was his quick response. She could hear how his footsteps came closer and a quick glimpse sideways told her he crouched next to the bathtub.  
"Then why did you go? If I remember correctly you were not even invited."  
"I wanted to see the dog your little brother owns nowadays."  
Her eyes followed the long, small fingers that reached in the water and grabbed an ice cube. "You could just dropped by Bakerstreet. They had more unusual visitors then you, you know?" Only a second after the words were spoken, did his lips kiss the ice. Her gaze traveled from his mouth to his cold, blue eyes.  
"I do not want to annoy them. That is your hobby, my love." Just now reached her voice a level of sarcasm which his words had all al long. A second sigh from his side of the tub followed.  
"Sherlock already knows of your existence. You do not have to worry about that, _my love._" A slight shiver went up her back – this one not caused by the cold, but by the cynicism is his voice.  
"Just," a couple of seconds went by in silence, "let me be. Alright?" A thick Dutch accent covered that last word. A little slip up which showed her frustration. A frustration which was more caused by the cold that became painful at this moment than his 'concern'.  
His arm reached in front of her, turned the little knob which drained the bathtub. After that he turned the hot water on. Slowly, but surely, the young lady saw how the the ice cubes started to disappear and could feel the warm water caressing her skin.  
Soft ruffled sounds followed and less than a minute later the man stepped in the bath, placing his body behind her. She stayed in the same place – not wanting to comfort her skin against his.  
"Really? You are angry at me now?" His questions were paired with an embrace around her tattooed body. He pulled her close to him and placed his chin on the latin words across her shoulder.  
"Contra vim mortis non crescit herba in hortis. Such a happy phrase is it, is not?" He tried making her talk again. Now it was her turn to sigh.  
"No herb grows in the gardens against the power of death." Her response was nothing more than the translation of the text written in ink on her shoulder. She knew damn well that he knew the meaning of the words, but the silence started to grap her own throat.  
The warm water started to kill the ice and she could feel her body relax after being in world of pain and cold over half an hour. His lips were pressed against her skin, caressing the word 'mortis' if she was right. How typical of him. She placed her hands against his which were still resting across her waist.  
"Why do I always try to crack the ice when melting it is so much easier?" Her gaze was looking for the ice cubes which were almost non-existent this moment. From his side came no answer. "Please say you will never grow to resent me."  
Almost immediately she could feel how his body leaned backwards, away from her. His lips did not caress her skin anymore, his hands had let go of her waist. "What did you do this time?" His voice was strict, not even concerned and more on the offensive side.  
She let her head down, her dreads falling before her heart-shaped face. "I would not be me if I could say that so easily." A second later he stepped out of the bathtub. Naturally. It was the reason why she never truly could be the most powerful woman of England. Because she never truly could be his woman.  
"I guess I will be cleaning up your mess once more." His words were annoyed while he shrugged the water off his body with a white coloured towel. Everything was white in this house. Sometimes it would make her feel claustrophobic. And those moments were the moments she escaped. Escaped back to her own life.  
"Oh, do not worry. Not even _you_ can clean up this mess." She raised her face, looked at him with an expression of provocation. "Maybe it is time to ask help from your little brother, but that is hard to do without any information. Is it not?" Slowly she could see how is face turned sour. She knew she had to stop, but the words just flowed out of her mouth. At this moment the man was already dressed in his suit and walking towards the doorway.  
"Did I already crack the ice, _my love_?"  
By hearing her words he stood still. "Not even close. Try melting it for once." Without even looking back at her he left the room. The young lady herself stayed in the bathtub for another hour – already missing the ice the moment when it went away.


	2. chapter1: a Very Ordinary Day

A whole week had passed without any news from Moriarty. The Scotland Yard was startled and tried to be alert as they could, but nothing happened. The same burglaries as usual, some murders here and there – but nothing worth mentioning. Sherlock was stressed. The nicotine patches were spread all over his arms. The violin playing became a consist sound in 221B Bakerstreet.  
But nothing happened.  
It was as if Moriarty kept the whole of England in his grasp with just saying quiet. Even the criminal world did not know what to do. The words echoed in everyones mind.  
'Did you miss me?'  
And so the days passed again. One week turned in two weeks, two in three and three in a month. The 'normal' people started to forget the incident, thought of it as nothing more than a succesful prankster. The longer the silence stayed, the more that thought became comforting. Especially for the Scotland Yard. The source for the video was never found. Believing it was nothing more than a prankster was what people wanted to believe and so they believed it.  
The violin playing stopped, but the nicotine patches stayed.  
Untill a very ordinary day in a very ordinary week of a very ordinary month. There was a very ordinary knock on the door of 221 Bakerstreet and in a very ordinary manner Mrs. Hudson opened the door. And a very ordinary client entered the building.

Her legs were crossed as she sat on the chair. Her fingers played with one of her dreadlocks. Twisting the dread around, which some people would indicate as nervousness, but in fact was a sign of her boredom. Her eyes first looked left. Examined the small, blonde man sitting in the big, comfortable looking chair. After that her gaze escaped to the right side of the room, but not for too long – she knew damn well what she would find there.  
"So... dear Mr. Watson, I heard you have a weak spot for sociopaths and assassins. If that is true, we should get a long just fine." Her cheeks were pulled up a little while a grin spread across her face. Quick, yet graceful as a ballerina, she left her chair and walked towards the doctor.  
John his mouth had already opened a little as sign of protest when the young lady settled herself on the armrest of his chair, her legs placed over his lap.  
"It is funny though, because I wonder who the true sociopath is. Or should I say psychopath?" She spoke quick just before one of the gentlemen in the room had the chance to say anything. Her fingers reached towards Johns arm and played with the fabric of his waistcoat.  
"I mean," slowly the lady stood up again, started to circle around the chair John was sitting on. "How many people did you kill, Mr. Watson? It is quit fascinating if you ask me." Her hands stroked against his shoulders and she felt his body tighten while she spoke. "And not only in the war. Even when you started to work with the young Mr. Holmes here, there were a few accidents. A cab driver if I remember correctly?" Her small, but thin body stood still behind the chair. Her hands still rested on the shoulders of the blonde man. "Even being a doctor is quite... How would I put it? Exciting? Is it exciting being able to choice who lives and dies?"  
"Who is she, Sherlock?" John his voice was filled with anger, frustration. His hand were formed into fists. His body was full of tension. The tension you could expect from a former soldier ready to attack.  
"Well she has been in at least two, no three of four, different criminal gangs as sign by the tattoos on her body. True, at least two of those marks are not visible anymore, but the dark cover ups and the existence of other gang tattoos tell me what the cover ups most likely hide. Clearly she does not care she stands out of the crowd - notice the very obvious dreadlocks -, but she has a way of walking which tell us she had a police training. Look at the tension in her shoulders: ready for a sudden attack at any moment. With the information she has, she has a quite impressive network, on both sides of the law. At which I can conclude she is probably a spy or something like that. No. Wrong. She is not a spy, she only gets information out of people – she does not actually follow them around. She stands out way too much for that. Oh, and the perfume she wears is the same that was surrounding Mycroft lately – so she is probably his _oh so_ mysterious fiancée. And she is an incredibly skill of emotional manipulation. The best in her 'workfield' so to say. Let her only in a room with anybody and she will be sure to steal all his or her secrets without even using force. She can just crack anyone with only her words. A very dangerous woman to hang around with. Oh and she has a slight Dutch, maybe German or Danish, no - definitely Dutch accent. Which tells us she although she is has spent quite a lot of time in England, she was raised in the Netherlands."  
Against her own will her mouth had formed a little 'o' while Sherlock spoke. Every little remark was spot on and this was only a part of what he could see. Undoubtedly when asked, he could mention an hundred more facts about her – just by looking at her. Very impressive.  
"She is Mycroft fiancée?" John his voice was a mixed between surprised and yet, still annoyed.  
"It is a miracle John how you always ask about the least important part of what I say. I just told her she could be the most dangerous woman of them all and still you are interested if she is Mycroft his fiancée, which she is yes." Sherlock his word were sarcastic while John looked over his shoulder to take another view at the lady.  
The lady which her grin had grown bigger. "You are more impressive than your big brother gives you credit for, young Mr. Holmes." Her voice was clearly amused and her eyes sparkled. What a fun could this be. Slowly she walked across the room, towards Sherlock.  
"Funny. With you it is just the other way around."  
Just now broke her smile into a soft laughter. "Young Mr. Holmes do not be so mean at our first meeting. One day we will be family, you know?"  
"Ah, but it is not our first meeting, is it? If I remember correctly you were at John his wedding." "She was?" "Quiet John, you bring the level of intelligence of this conservation down."  
Another soft laugh from her side followed. "So you did saw me and I thought my chef uniform made me so invisible. Too bad, clearly field work really is not my thing."  
"No, your thing is more black mailing and manipulation. And in that field I have to say you are quite incredible. No one ever successfully blackmailed Mycroft before and you even blackmailed him into a engagement. Pretty neat."  
A little cough came from the other side of the room. Both Sherlock and the lady her gaze fell upon John which looked a little concerned. "You _blackmailed_ Mycroft into marrying you?" The slight confusion in John his voice made both persons on the right side of the room laugh.  
"Oh, Mr. Watson my engagement has nothing to do with love. I am not so naïve. It is about protection. Somebody with my past could use some protection you know."  
"But there is a mistake in your thinking, future Mrs. Holmes. Mycroft does not love you which makes the protection nearly existing."  
"Yeah, but young Mr. Holmes my protection has nothing to do with Mycroft his non-existent love for me. Think about it. Would you dare to harm the fiancée of one of the most powerful men of England? Even when there is the question if he loves her or not? I would not take the risk, would you?"  
The silence which followed was an answer on its own.  
"So miss-what-is-your-name, why are you here today?" John his question broke the tension which started to grow in the room. The young lady returned to her chair and crossed her legs again while her hands were placed on her knee.  
"I came here as a client. Some members of my network have gone missing lately. It is fairly frustrating to be honest since I can not ask my dear fiance for help because it may be his cause. So I will need a third party." Her eyes traveled towards Sherlock which looked slightly bored and she knew he would probably decide to decline her case.  
It was not interesting enough.  
"Moriarty might have to do something with it." It were the exact words that were needed to gain Sherlock his interest. "So it was you who gave Mycroft all the information about Moriarty his network – that is how you blackmailed him. You gave the missing links and as 'thank you' you would gain his protection." A little nod was her answer which confirmed his theory.  
"And now Moriarty may or may not have returned and parts of your network are starting to disappear. A network which was very strongly connected to Moriarty. I do not believe in coincides, miss De Ravin."  
"I know you do not, young Mr. Holmes and that is why I will leave this list with names and photos with you, you can take a look and figure it out from there. The only two things I want is my network back and Mycroft may not know anything of this." The young lady opened her handbag and took a folder list filled with different pages out of it. After that she stood up, layed the folder list on the closest table and walked out of the room. In the doorway she stood still for a second.  
"Have fun with it, young Mr. Holmes."

A few minutes had passed since the lady had left the room and neither Sherlock or John had moved from their chairs. At least it was John who spoke first. "I do not understand why Mycroft can not know. It would make no sense if it was his doing. He would know her network was connected with that of Moriarty and it could lead him to the consulting criminal. It would be illogical for Mycroft to be involved with this-."  
"Unless that is the only way he can be sure he can trust his 'dear' fiancée. My big brother has found a gold fish for himself which he can not predict whether it will swim in a right or left turn. So that is the entertainment he keeps for himself nowadays."  
"Gold fish?"  
"It does not matter John, it looks like we found a new interesting case," and that were the last words Sherlock spoke before he bounced on his feet and hurried to the table. He took the pages out of the folder list and pinned them on the wall.  
"This looks like it could be a fun one."


End file.
